Snapped
by PeaceLoveAndAcoustics
Summary: Arthur is a very tired man. And, to top it all off, he has to deal with Alfred. When Arthur finally snaps, what will Alfred do? Trigger Warning: Abuse


_Look at what you're doing to me. Look at what you've done to our home, our live, and our relationship. The scars, they're more than just a physical reminder of the abuse that I go through on a daily basis. Yes, these cuts on my arms I do not deserve, and they've started to chizzle away at not only my spirit, but the amount of hope that I hold close to my heart. Hope, that I pray will keep my safe through the night. Hope, that makes it a little bit more easy to breathe, easier to sleep, easier to dream._

Do you ever dream? Ha, that's a stupid question. Surely, someone as busy as you has no such time to waste on a silly topic such as sleep or dreams. But...if you did dream, what would be dancing around in that pretty little head of yours? Would there be pleasant thoughts, or rather impulses of violence waiting for the right moment to act; to show their true colors, to destroy.

Is that what you intend to do to me, Arthur? Do you intend to destroy every little thing that I have in this world, until I'm stripped of all of my power, making you the ultimate victor? No, that'd be to simple, wouldn't it? Just taking what belongs to me isn't enough for you, is it? You want me dead.

Dead.

Decaying.

Rotten, just like your soul.

I need an escape. 

The British nation's eyes flickered open, his attention turning to the pounding going on inside of his skull. Great, he went on another drinking binge again. His green eyes flickered over to the empty, brown bottle laying on its side, perched on his study desk. Arthur let out a defeated sigh, slowly lifting himself back up. "Damn...the next time Gilbert wants me to go drinking, I'll have to politely decline. Alfred!" He called, still holding his head in pain.

Speaking of Alfred, where was he? Wasn't he supposed to be in the kitchen, fixing him something to eat? Arthur let out another sigh, this one though was out of sheer annoyance. "I can never count in you for anything now, can I?" Arthur spoke aloud, straightening himself up a bit. Well, if Alfred wasn't going to present himself to him, he was just going to have to find him himself.

Arthur stood slowly, trying not to let the effects of the alcohol rush to his already buzzing brain. His steps were slow, his posture slouched. How many drinks did he have last night at the pub, anyway? Ten? Fifteen?

Then there was that bottle.

Arthur glanced over his shoulder quickly, the sight of the Rum bottle still in his line of vision. How the hell did it get on his study table, anyway? And an even better question that needed an answer, how the hell did it become empty? He had just purchased the bottle the other night, surely he hadn't drunk an entire bottle by himself. He had better morals than that.

...Right?

Arthur never thought of himself of a raging alcoholic-no, alcohol was something that he always had control over. Sure, he loved to go out to the pub and have a few drinks with his friends, but that was just twice a week. And it wasn't like he drank because he needed to, he wanted to feel the burn of the alcohol in his throat. He only drank when he was stressed. That was okay.

...Right?

Arthur opened the door to the bedroom, spotting the other blonde nation asleep on the bed. Something about this situation didn't set well with Arthur. Alfred shouldn't be sleeping the day away-no, he should be down in the kitchen, preparing him something to eat.

Arthur sat down on the bed, looking over the fragile body of the blonde in front of him. The British man reached out a pale hand, tracing over the ugly scars on the blonde's body. The scars were deep, some faded, some new. They varied in length, but Arthur knew the truth. They were all inflicted by him.

He had always hated himself for giving his lover these permanent imperfections. If he could go in a time machine and stop his past self from performing such disgusting acts, he would do it in a heartbeat. His lean fingers traced scar after scar, cut after cut.

Arthur was nothing but a fucking monster.

He gave the American nation a little nudge, trying to wake him. The American twitched a little, but did not wake. Arthur sighed, and lowered himself to Alfred's ear. "Wake up, my sweet," he whispered, smiling. He ran his lean fingers through the other nation's golden locks. "It's time to get up now."

Alfred let out a slight moan. "What do you want, Arthur? I was sleeping."

"I can see this," Arthur said, still running his fingers through Alfred's blonde hair. "Which reminds me, shouldn't you be downstairs, cooking?"

Alfred sat up slowly. "I could be," The blonde admitted, stretching out his tired joints. "But, I also could be sleeping at this very time. And, in fact, I would be doing just that if you hadn't woken me up."

"Well, I'm not going to cook for myself, Alfred. That's your job." Arthur explained, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. "Come on, chap. I don't need much."

"And what you do must," Alfred started, getting off of the bed. "You can make yourself, can't you?"

"But what if I don't want to?" Arthur asked, smiling. "Surely, you could give me a decent meal. I thought that was the agreement when you moved in here."

"Yeah, but I'm tired today, Arthur. I was up all night."

"Doing what?"

"Dealing with your bull shit, per usual."

"I really have no idea what it is that you are talking about," Arthur said, standing up as well. "Now, if I were you, I'd get your American ass into the kitchen."

"I'm not going, Arthur. You're a big boy, you can make it yourself."

Arthur looked the man over, holding back a scoff. He wasn't going to obey him? Did he think that he actually had freedom? Arthur grabbed the man's wrist, jerking him up. The British man quickly silenced the small yelp that escaped the younger blonde's throat, smirking. "Come now, love. You need to learn how to listen. That was always one of your weak points." He pressed his lips to the nape of Alfred's neck, planting a sweet, tender kiss. Arthur could feel the man cringing underneath him. The wave of rage swept over him, crashing about internally like a violent ocean thrashing out of control. "What's the matter, lad? Are you disgusting with me now or something?"

"Let go of me!" The younger blonde cried out, trying to wiggle from Arthur's grasp. "I'll do whatever you want, just please—let me go!"

"I do not know if I can trust you anymore, poppet." Arthur cooed, twisting his wrist in a clockwise motion. The sounds of bones snapping and cracking controlled the volume of the room. "Now, go downstairs and do what you were told,"

"Y-Yes, sir..."


End file.
